Sinister forces draw together a cast of desperate characters in this eerie and absorbing novel from Yoko Ogawa.An aspiring writer moves into a new apartment and discovers that her landlady has murdered her husband. Years later, the writer’s stepson reflects upon his stepmother and the strange stories she used to tell him. Meanwhile, a surgeon’s lover vows to kill him if heSinister forces draw together a cast of desperate characters in this eerie and absorbing novel from Yoko Ogawa.An aspiring writer moves into a new apartment and discovers that her landlady has murdered her husband.
Years later, the writer’s stepson reflects upon his stepmother and the strange stories she used to tell him. Meanwhile, a surgeon’s lover vows to kill him if he does not leave his wife. Before she can follow-through on her crime of passion, though, the surgeon will cross paths with another remarkable woman, a cabaret singer whose heart beats delicately outside of her body. But when the surgeon promises to repair her condition, he sparks the jealousy of another man who would like to preserve the heart in a custom tailored bag.
Murderers and mourners, mothers and children, lovers and innocent bystanders—their fates converge in a darkly beautiful web that they are each powerless to escape.Macabre, fiendishly clever, and with a touch of the supernatural, Yoko Ogawa’s Revenge creates a haunting tapestry of death—and the afterlife of the living. Yoko Ogawa has made a name for herself as a writer who can unsettle her readers with her precise, detailed, impassive prose. Two of her previously published books, Hotel Iris: A Novel and The Diving Pool: Three Novellas, introduce themes of unsettled families, unhealthy relationships between characters and food, and sado-masochism. (Another of her novels, The Housekeeper and the Professor, is a much gentler story, showing Ogawa's range as a writer.) In Revenge: Stories, Ogawa revisits her earlie [.]. I admire writers who can write such deceptively simple sentences and with no exposition make everything clear that they want to be clear.
Ogawa, at least with these stories, is one of those writers, yet she doesn't want everything to be clear, another thing I admire. I especially loved her subtle, wicked sense of humor, even about herself, or at least about writers.Each story from the first to the last is linked either by a mysterious happening or, in some cases, what seems like the passing of a [.]. If I were rating this against the other Ogawa books I've read then I'd probably go lower with the stars, but as a standalone it is no more and no less than meh, fine by me. It is just fine, a 'woo' without an exclamation point. A straight-faced, monotone 'woo' probably accompanied by a lethargic blink and some dried up streamlets of slobber. Seriously, it is totally just fine.The thing with Ogawa that I love is the way she renders a scene.
She's makes these little minimalist snapshots in these m [.]. This is a fascinating collection that weaves together the lives of broken people unable to cope with lingering memories and pains.
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United by a sense of commonality in the quest of gaining triumph against their personal devils, the stories move hauntingly, enveloped with an off-kilter atmosphere, told with a chilling precision often eerie. There is even a dreadful sense of self-awareness in the collection when one story would be read or alluded to in another. Ogawa also manages to playfully inser [.]. This book was suggested to me by my wonderful local bookshop lady and she certainly pushed me in a direction I don't normally go, namely translated short stories. Ogawa starts most of these tales very matter-of-factly, calm sensory descriptions, leaves fluttering, people reading or going about their daily activities but something always feels slightly eerie and it is hard to put your finger on what. Eventually, the weirdness escalates in utterly unpredictable ways. The things that happen are odd [.].
An aspiring writer moves into a new apartment and discovers that her landlady has murdered her husband. Years later, the writer’s stepson reflects upon his stepmother and the strange stories she used to tell him. Yoko Ogawa weaves together a collection of short stories to create a haunting tapestry of death.While this is a collection of short stories, Yoko Ogawa has managed to link each story with the last with recurring images and motifs. Apparently this is an old tradition from classical Jap [.]. The Beginning:On the back cover of the book I found this blurb (an extract from Washington Post Review). Usually I do not depend much upon the blurbs stated on the covers of the books.